Falling Through Another's Eyes
by nycforme
Summary: Rather than escaping after stealing Christine's chain at the masquerade ball, Erik brings her down to his home and shows her how she makes him feel. Rated M for sexual content.
1. Chapter 1

She was in Erik's arms and falling before she realized that Raoul's warm hand was no longer clasping hers. His body was hard and rigid against hers as the air left her body and she found herself staring up into that horrid mask, Red Death. It wasn't far from his actual face, the irony wasn't lost on her but forgotten quickly as she realized they were falling downward. The silks of his costumes were hard to get a grip on and she was sure her sweaty palms would leave marks and wrinkles in the expensive material. In slow motion she watched as his feathered hat fell away and revealed his balding head, challenging eyes dared her to protest this exposure but she did nothing but hold herself tighter to him.

Screaming would serve no purpose but to anger him more at her mistreatment of her instrument, so Christine kept her eyes locked upon his brown ones even after they landed and her mouth shut tight. Looking up at the fastening trap door, she realized they couldn't have fallen further than to one of the first cellars of the opera house, but once the wood was bolted above them and the chaotic screaming was snapped away, the silence and darkness closed in on their intimate position. Never before had she been curious to know how far from the real world they were, but now looking up and knowing that Raoul was running about in panic and she was only a half hour walk away from him anxiety was bubbling in her stomach.

He set her on her feet slowly, seemingly unabashed in the way he dropped her lower half first and clutched the material of her dress tightly, so that she was pulled flat against his body. Her breathing was shallow and quick as a quivering hand fixed the curls at her face and slid down to adjust the glimmering material of her dress. It occurred to her suddenly that she had not seen him in six months, and she had missed him. The way his eyes caressed her skin and ensured that he had not hurt her, even through the fire burning so fiercely in his eyes, her well-being was his first concern. Christine lifted a quivering hand and pulled at the bottom piece of his mask, forcing his mouth and jaw into exposure as the wooden jaw splashed to the ground.

"I'd thought you'd be screaming by now, begging to be taken back to your precious Vicomte." He did not comment on her action or wait for an answer, but gathered her small hand in his own and led her further into blackness.

Six months and she had not forgotten what it was like to walk so deep into blackness that it felt as if she was walking in space, silence pressed in on her ears until she felt as if she was growing crazy, thankful for his hand wrapped securely around her own to weave her in and out of tunnels that twisted down, down, down. His breathing was loud and shallow, for the first time he seemed more of a mortal man, although he looked the part of a demon. The red billowing silk costume was bulky yet he walked easily on, the skeletal mask revealed his bloated and deformed lips yet he hummed as he rowed them across his lake. Finally they stood in the darkness and she awaited her punishment, a feeling of inevitable doom washed over her as she realized he would probably never let her go. She was his now, he had taken her from her life, plucked her neatly and literally out of the Vicomte's hands, and now he was pressing her against the damp wall of the catacombs.

The rock was cold and hard against her back so she couldn't help but revel in his warmth, in the feeling of his costume pressing flat against her until there was nothing between them but masquerading material. Their material was thick and unyielding, both with buttons and clips up the back, but still as he pressed her against the wall she could feel his arousal hard against her thighs.

"Erik?"

"Christine?" Voice haggard and hoarse, lips distractingly close to her own and eyes scorching with passion she hoped she could match. The rest of the world had faded away until there wass nothing but the suffocating blackness and Erik's hands crawling up her bodice to lay at the tops of her breasts. Her breath hitched and he growled in satisfaction, lips finally seeking hers and groaning at her acceptance.

It was a dance she'd never been taught, to walk backwards in the throes of passion as a man worked desperately at undressing her. Her tiara went first and was snapped in two before it clattered to the floor, then her gloves were delicately pulled away, next he fumbled at buttons and clasps until the dress swooshed to the floor in a sea of pinks, purples, her childhood. His room was big, with high ceilings and a large door that he slammed behind them with a deafening roar. She was standing in nothing but her camisole and pantaloons and could think of nothing else to do but smile at his beige coverlet and pillows on his grand bed. Fiery eyes follow her gaze and he smiled a true, honest, smile that caught the breath in her throat. If he was in his day-to-day mask she was sure that the exposed side of his face would have looked quite handsome; even then, the way the smile reached his eyes made him glow in the dim lighting of the glowing embers in his fireplace.

"Christine?" Her eyes shrunk away from the mirror at the side of his bed and turned to him, where he was staring hungrily at her nearly nude body. She'd never felt so exposed in her life, to see his artist's eyes taking in every imperfection and cataloging each blemish and flush into memory for later. She sat upon the bed, awaiting instruction, as she watched him undress himself. First the bulbous jacket fell away to reveal a white shirt with suspenders holding the heavy pants into place. Once the suspenders were unbuttoned, and the white shirt was undone, he was left in nothing but his underwear and mask. It was startling, to see his arousal so obvious against the straining material of his underpants, and even more startling to feel the heat that radiated off of him as he stepped nearer and nearer to her.

"Are you angry with me, Christine?" The huskiness in his usually angelic voice was new and sent tingles down her spine as warmth filled her until it felt like she could quite possibly melt into his mattress.

"Not angry, no." Her shaky voice sent a flush up into her already hot ears as he stalked closer with smooth, elegant steps. He was not what she expected to see beneath his clothing, the trimming black suits and swooshing capes failed to reveal his broad shoulders or curving thighs, and the very thought of running her hands over his smooth chest was alarmingly attractive to her clouded mind. With some sort of spell over her, he encouraged her willowy arms to remove the last of her clothing and position herself so that she laid along the width of the bed. Reaching out, she clasped a pillow tightly as she anticipated his final undressing and then suddenly they were both nude and shaking against each other. He crawled over her and was almost undone by the softness of her body beneath him. She was smooth and sweet and gasping for air, blushing and politely pretending not to notice his arousal teasing at her wetness.

"Is this what you want?" He hadn't thought to ask. It was what he wanted his entire life, before he even knew her he had been striving toward this moment, and now he was giving her the opportunity to snatch it away from him. The very idea of her dressing now and demanding to be taken back up to her world was so disgusting it made his stomach lurch. Her stiff nod of acceptance was adorable, her little chin tucked to her chest as she lay submissive beneath him, but he wanted his Christine responsive. He wanted to make her love him and make love to him the way she made music: easily, passionately, and soulfully.

"Christine, I need words."

"Yes, Erik, yes I want you."

And then he allowed himself to take her in, all of her. The curls atop her head that had once been of his utmost fascination were practically forgotten as he delighted at the pale nipples that hardened between his lips, and the little freckle that contrasted the curve of her hip bone in the shape of a little crescent moon, and the dark curls that hid the one pleasure of the world he had never experienced. In Persia, he had seen the act done many times, but to hear her words of want and feel her trembling, warm body beneath him was much different than watching courtesans' swaying skirts and bare feet hooked around hips of men he had bargained with in public courts.

To hear those shy words escape from brave, little Christine's mouth forced a mysterious confidence he had never known to overcome him. Long fingers were spreading her plump thighs as she held fearful eye contact with him, and then he was tasting the sweetness of the world he had never been allowed and she was writhing with pleasure. From him, from Erik. His Christine! Moaning his name and digging her dull nails into the skin of her shoulders as breathy whispers of pleasure racked her chest and forced her head to fall back upon his blankets. Suddenly she was a shaking mass of long limbs, dancer legs were bent and clutching him to her, pale arms were wrinkling the sheets in her knotted fingers, and she called his name with such passion that he believed she had made actual music out of an disgrace.

He was upon her before she had regained full control over her body again, lips devouring her in a heated fury she failed to keep in time with. She should have been humiliated and ashamed of how willingly she was succeeding her body to this masked villain who had tortured her life for months on end, but he was music. As his composer hands flew across her body, consuming her and torturing her with pleasure, she could not help but feel humbled that these were the same hands that had created such beautiful masterpieces of genius. Suddenly her body had transformed into a harp and his elegant hands were plucking and stroking and manipulating until she was left singing and vibrating under his menstruations.

"Please, Erik!" She could take no more of his taunting tongue at her neck, or firm hands on her breasts, or knee rocking between her legs.

It was a moment he would never forget, thrusting into her with such a firm clasp on her hips that when she fell back onto the sheets with an agonized sigh, he held her like putty in his hands. Her warmth enveloped him but all he could do was stare down at the flexible woman in his hands who seemed to recline with ease against the bed even though her hips were held tight to his own, practically suspended in the air. And then he broke. Unable to restrain himself anymore he thrust deeper, faster, harder, relishing in the way her pained gasps turned to coos and moans of excitement. Christine's entire body was the pink of spring rose, and her kindness and willingness to allow him so close nearly finished him far before he was ready to be done. His eyes met his own in the mirror on the other side of the bed. It was something he had ignored until Christine came into his life and he had been forced to remember how vain and shallow women were about their looks, and the looks of their partners.

A laugh barked from his lips at the image before him. His own hideous body pumping meticulously into the body of a little princess, a princess so lost in her own pleasure that she was only weakly meeting his thrusts with breathy grunts and sweaty palms on his wrists that held her tight. She had never pleasured herself before, that much was obvious when he had first touched her, and to be gifted with her first orgasm was one that drowned out all self-hatred and instead brought tears to his eyes. Continuing toward his own pleasure, Erik reached up and slowly removed his mask to reveal his own skeletal face. Christine did not comment, but moaned louder in the aftermath of her pleasure as Erik thrust harder and faster, finding pleasure but watching his own face in the mirror as he collapsed upon her tiny body. The epitome of a monster, he kissed at her sweaty face with appreciative lips. They laid in silence, her little hand finding his and squeezing it tightly before she turned on her side to look down at his hideous face.

"Thank you, Erik."

"No, thank you, Christine. You were magnificent, a performance I'll never forget and always favor." Her blush was still one of the innocent ballerina he had deflowered months ago in his mind. Now there she was, naked in his bed with a little hand splayed across his chest tapping along to the beat of his racing heart, smiling.

"Am I to stay here…We-We are not married in the eyes of God, Erik, I know your opinions on him but-"

"I will not be married in a church, Christine. If you believe your God will condemn you for hell for one night of pleasure with a man who loves you then that is your burden to bear." A long silence fell between them, where Christine took the time to rest her head on his chest and Erik took the time to pull the blankets around them, in the center of the bed.

"Am I to stay here?" Her question was shy and whispered against his chest, pink lips brushed his still-burning skin and he nearly gasped at the contact. Erik's eyes remained on the ceiling as he answered,

"If you would like, but I won't do with you disappearing before my opera debut." He knew that things would not be easy for them, that this night resolved nothing for them but perhaps complicated their relationship even more as she struggled between happiness and her duty to a God that had forgotten Erik years ago. Then there was the Vicomte who would no doubt wish to fight to the death for Christine's childlike hand in marriage; Erik was willing to meet the Vicomte's wishes in that matter. Christine said nothing, but knew he needed no answer, not as she felt him relax into sleep beneath her and felt the slight rustling of her hair that was his soft snoring.


	2. Chapter 2

The eyes of God had no influence on Erik, it was a lesson she was already familiar with but learned and learned again as days passed in his presence. His name was taken in vain, no prayers were said before eating, and sex was a hobby he reveled in multiple times a day with little interest in procreation, a few crimes among many. Not only were his duties to God forgotten, but his lack of presence amongst polite society had taken its toll on him more than she had realized. He was no beast, no, but he was not the gentleman she had grown accustom to Raoul being. And Erik adored all of this about himself; she was half convinced he was this way simply to see the look of surprise on her face as he reminded her that he was not a man like any other man.

Although not a Godly man, Erik remained a routine like any other. He dressed early and ate with tea and whatever book he had taken enjoyment of, then a music lesson, more tea, music study, a reading of a foreign language, lunch, then more music before supper. Sweets sometimes followed supper, perhaps a book opened in his lap that he would read aloud with his melodic voice painting beautiful pictures to her, if she was lucky he would play her a song before ordering her off to sleep. The evenings were lax, but the days were spent with a strict routine that he never strayed from, out of comfort or a stringent sense of duty Christine was not sure, but she appreciated the luxury of obeying his unchanging ways.

His inflexible days made the nights all the more exciting. Often, after dinner, she found herself splayed across the lounge as he remained stayed in his favorite armchair, the dark wood carvings gleaming in the firelight as his fingers dusted across the pages of his work. Christine's eyes did not stray from his body as her blood pumped hot and excited at the thoughts of what nighttime brought. The days were made up of music and food, same as nights were made up of their naked bodies and love. Erik never held back when making love, he took her many times a night, each time orchestrating moans and pleas of desire from her as he brought her to wits end in pleasure. The question was never "if" or "why" but "when" and "where." Some nights she was taken right there upon the lounge with her hair caught in one fist as his other palm clasped her silk robe up against her hip, other nights she was ravaged against the walls, or piano, in his lap which she had at first thought to be a sacred place for learning. She favored, as she was taught a civilized woman should, his bed. With his soft sheets and fluffy duvet, where he pressed her sweating form into the plump mattress as he claimed her in the most basic way, stealing her mind and soul from her.

"Erik?" After dinner he had not offered her a reading or song or glass of wine, he had not ordered her off to meet him in bed, instead he'd risen from his chair and left her alone at the table. Her call echoed in the dark dining hall, empty now save for her pale form sitting across from his empty plate. During dinner he had watched the candlelight play across her chest, tangle in drying hair, dance across the lace of her robe revealing her plump wrist. Christine had said nothing of his watchful eyes, rather continued on with her meal and polite conversation, ever more surprised by his devotion to routine when other wants read clearly in his wandering eyes.

No answer was given as; again, she called after his retreating form. She dared not follow him to his room, sure that he would return within moments to find her, so she dutifully cleared away the dishes to the kitchen and washed thoroughly. Her mind remained on his retreating form, anxious for his return, as she made wine glasses gleam and the gold trims of his plates glisten. Yet he still made no return, and so she went to the study, half expectant to find him in his armchair, but unsurprised that she was met with silence. Even more excited by his eventual arrival, Christine readied his book upon his chair before settling on the lounge with her feet tucked into her slippers and wet hair falling across her shoulders as she studied a book that held no real interest for her. Her eyes trailed, again and again, to the grandfather clock as she watched the crooked hand of time tick away against the golden plate. The clock had a comfortable looking owl carved to perch atop the head, its feathers puffed up to its chin, and the owl bore down upon her with the question "How long?" as seconds turned to minutes and her excitement turned to anxiety.

Slippered feet padded across the floors, white ruffles brushing across the darkness as she held a candle to guide her way across the black hallway to the bedroom door. The master bedroom was just across the hall from her own room, and the temptation to leave him alone and disappear into a room full of roses to avoid his possible wrath was tempting, but the crack between the door and doorframe was enough to beckon her forth into the warmth of the flowing candlelight of his room. Pink fingers pushed the door open and she slipped inside innocently, only to have her guiding candle clatter to the floor with a loud gasp.

"Christine!" It was a lustful call that brought roses to her cheeks immediately, the familiarity and intimacy of his voice shot liquid fire straight to the pit of her stomach, even as she shook in embarrassment. His deep eyes found her's as his hand worked away at himself, his naked body glistening in the candlelight as she stood frozen against the door unsure of whether to be apologetic or remain in awe of the sight before her. Unembarrassed, Erik finished with her name upon his lips and his eyes locked on her flushed face. It was odd, to see but not experience him and she wondered how often this happened, and could not feel slightly hurt that there were times when she was excluded. He beckoned for her and after checking to be sure her candle had not caught the carpet aflame, she obeyed him. She climbed upon the bed and waited, with shaking hands, as he slowly undressed her.

Hot, sweaty hands pulled at buttons and ribbons, skimming her skin just enough to send shivers up her spine. Chest heaving for breath, Erik used his lips to haunt her skin, suckling at her neck and collarbone, pulling cherry tips of her breasts between his teeth, biting at the skin of her thigh but never bringing her closure or pleasure. White teeth painted red bruises upon her neck and chest, upon the soft skin under her breast, scratched atop her hip bone. By the time she was fully bare to him her heart was pounding, skin deeply flushed, and mind completely drunk on the feeling of him against her. She was swimming in sweet sensations, moaning his name louder than she could think, crying out faster than she could feel him provoking her.

"Touch yourself." His voice seduced her, as it always did, enchanted her, hypnotized her, and brought her to doing things she had never done before. She hesitated, however, to commit this sin she'd been taught against since she was young. Sex before marriage was able to be reasoned around, especially when Erik was there to put into words why documentation was nothing more than his hand around hers. But this? This felt unnecessary when he was ripe and ready against her. Why sin purposefully and unnecessarily when she could have her Erik instead? Her hesitation was met with a hiss of a demand,

"Christine, touch yourself." She elicited a gasp when he gripped her hand and dragged it down to her curls and rubbed, guiding her, teaching her, gazing at her with interest as he pulled away from her and sat back to watch. Without his warmth to guide her, Christine stopped, then his hand was there again pushing her onward before relaxing back onto the pillows.

"Continue, Christine." He was testing her, she knew, and she had not the ability to fail him. Blushing, shaking, she hesitantly pleasured herself with eyes tightly shut and attempting to ignore the feeling of his eyes memorizing her every movement.

"Imagine it's me, Christine, show me what you like." It was a ridiculous request, they both knew, as he knew everything she liked. He controlled all that she liked; he had taught her everything she knew and brought her to climax again and again with his knowledge of what exactly made her melt against him. But again, she was met with the realization that she was incapable of disobeying, and her hand picked up speed as her eyes fluttered open to meet his. The flush burned higher and she was scared of the intense heat as her fingers slipped within her wet folds.

"Erik…" She was unable to stop his name from falling from her bruised lips, every inch of her body was aflame as Erik watched anxiously, slowly reaching out to trail his finger across her arms and then over her breasts as she twitched in need.

"Give yourself to the pleasure, my love, let go…"

So close, but so far, she grunted out in want as he barely tickled her with the pad of his thumb across her inner thigh. It was enough to still her, but at her frozen stance he pulled away, and her wanton cry didn't bring him back until she was moving again, straddling the bed as he moved to kneel before her. It was his lips upon her neck that sent her over, crying out loudly as he supported her exhausted weight. She was entranced with pleasure, lost to the feelings of love and obedience coursing through her pumped veins as his spindly fingers smoothed her hair and thick lips pressed to her brow. Awkward humiliation came as her breathing recovered and she came to the realization that her hand was still rocking between her thighs and Erik was watching with amusement as her lips formed his name silently, again the again. She moved to right herself, immediately searching for a bit of sheet to wrap around her burning body, but grew still at the feeling of his hand upon her wrist.

"That was the most beautiful act, I've ever seen."

"Why did you come here…alone?" Her voice was hoarse from her screaming and she was surprised that he had not yelled at her for abusing herself.

"To see if I could bring you to the edge without staining you myself. Don't be sour, Christine, it was an experiment of nature." He was dressed and back out in the study before she had overcome his words. Erik was as much a mystery to her as he had ever been, moments of devotion were often washed away with his so-called experiments and she wondered how many nights of, what she had perceived as their, love-making were actually just his experiments to see how far she would go to please him.

"Are you coming, my love? I was hoping to read to you." He had tucked his head back into the room as she still remained in a seated position, staring at where he had sat moments ago. And then Christine decided, it was ok if that's what this was, because Erik deserved that. After years of solitary loneliness, Erik deserved to bring her pleasure whichever way he liked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey all, thanks for reading! I'm not really sure how long I'll be posting these for, as you may have noticed, these are just drabbles of stories and erotica strung loosely together. Hope you all enjoy! Reviews would be appreciated!**

At times Christine felt lonely by the silence of the deep home Erik had created, although she knew she was never truly alone. Erik was constantly there, they were hardly separated for more than a handful of minutes at a time. To dress for dinner, to bathe, to dress for the day, or to sit waiting as he went in search of the wine to be served with dinner. And in these moments of abandonment, Christine was on edge, waiting for them to be returned to each other. Relief came each morning as she rushed to the music room to find him, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, a small smirk upon his lips to hear her gasp of pleasure at the sight of him. Joy tumbled from her mouth in high pitched giggles that he reveled as she bound from the bathroom in her silk robe, wet curls tickling his face as he allowed her to nestle into his lap for a nightly reading. Their embraces were cherished by both, her silken skin a gift Erik thought he would never receive, his small smiles a blessing she didn't know existed.

Propriety was forgotten as time went on, small displays of affection were given freely, sexual endeavors explored greatly, and conversations flowed easily as they grew more and more comfortable together. No longer did she feel as if she was intruding on the life he had created for himself, no longer did she feel as if she was pushing her way into a home she would never truly fit into. Love, the world toppled from her lips frantically one evening when she rocked atop his lap and his hands were buried deeply in her curls as he brought her to the rim of ecstasy. They crashed together in a symphony of explosive desire, her arms wrapped lovingly around his neck as Erik crushed his distorted face against her collarbone, leaving kisses on her sensitive skin.

"Do you?" The words were nearly unheard under Christine's gasps of breath, sensations flooding through her limbs as she fought to ground her swimming mind. The feeling of his long hands caressing up and down her sides did not help to calm the small coos she was unable to contain.

"Do I?" Seemingly unaffected by his orgasm, he clutched her hips tightly in his slick palms. This topic of conversation was one not to be taken lightly, and his stare was so intense she felt her heart slow under as if he had ordered her to calm.

"Do you love me, Christine?" The seriousness was merely a curtain, of course, a swirl of smoke that only she could see through. When the smoke was fanned aside, she could see the timidity in his eyes, the terrible uncertainty of her true feelings for him.

"Yes Erik, yes, I do love you." He studied her for a moment; to be sure that what she was speaking was true, before his lips dragged her back into the deep waters of pleasure.

It had been explained to her, long ago, what felt like was in another lifetime when she was a ballerina and danced upon a stage in white skirts of tulle and lace, that love was not something every woman could look for in a suitor. One was to look for money, title, propriety. She would never think that she, Christine Daae, a violinist's daughter, would fall so quickly and float upon a love that overtook her so wonderfully. For love was much like the ocean that she remembered form a childhood traveling along the shore. The way her skirts had been ruthlessly tossed about and dragged down, pulled whichever way the water pleased. But Christine did not mind, Erik had her best interest at heart and would never pull her in a direction that would be poor for her, of that she was sure. If loving him was like the ocean, then she was drowning, sinking deep down and letting her body become consumed and overtaken by the cool waters of pleasure.

Erik often insisted that she repeat her love for him. In the mornings her purposefully kissed her upon the cheek and whispered his love for her into her ear, a gentle hand tucking her hair behind her ear, much like a young suitor he beamed to hear her return the words with a soft smile. Sometimes when she was seated in his lap listening intently as he read to her of pirates and far off lands, he would rest his thumb in the book to hold his page, and speak to her the three words that had changed her life so completely, and she would repeat them back with eyes alight with joy. And then, there were times at night when he held her as close to him as a man could hold a woman, and begged her to say the words that brought him to a stupor of pleasure each and every night they came together.

There were still some days, however, where Erik was put in foul moods by the simplest of things. If Christine had scooped too much sugar into her tea, or the fire smoldered too harshly against him in the evenings, and especially when his piano playing was not as magnificent as he wished it to be (although, this was something Christine swore she could never notice the difference of, he was always amazing.) It was on a night like this, when Erik had smashed a tea cup in frustration and Christine sat scrunched on the chaise lounge unafraid but very much annoyed as she watched him tire himself out by pacing ferociously across the floor.

"Erik, perhaps it would do best to sit and be quiet for a while before returning to the piano." His eyes flashed as he turned on her, a flicker of flame from the fire glinted across his depths of piercing brown and she regretted the suggestion, immediately.

"Would it, darling, would it do best?"

The words were knives of ice as he stalked toward her, a hand reaching out to clasp her arm firmly in his grip. For a brief moment she wondered if she could find it within herself to be scared of him again, after weeks of prancing sweetly throughout their home without a care for what he thought, how odd would it be to revert back to walking on egg shells around him? Her thoughts were shattered when his lips clasped her lips, fiercely but gently, he seduced her mouth with a quick tongue and pulled her up to a standing position, forcing her back against the wall of the sitting room. A small gasp left her as he struggled with the clasps of her gown, frustrated fingers scratching away at her back as he moved lustfully against her cool form.

"Christine, help me."

"I am not to help a madman, Erik. Calm yourself and we shall proceed." She was half-joking as he continued to fumble at the buttons near the small of her back, but he did not find her funny. It was too bold, he decided, and with a smirk a sudden coolness washed over him he continued to release the dress from her.

Green material rustled to the ground about her ankles as she stood in corset, shift and stockings against his clothes form. A hand pressed to her neck and pushed her flat against the wall, no words were necessary as his eyes told her to stay still while he quickly and with little flourish tossed his jacket and cufflinks to the floor. The wall was cool against her back as his hot form pressed tightly against her. A curious hand slipped between her thighs and tickled her as he gently pulled at the little knots of her stockings before she was released in the most improper of ways. The cotton slid down to sit around her ankles as one of his hands splayed atop her heaving chest and the other into her heat.

"Erik-"

"Ah, ah, Christine. You would do best to remain silent." It was not a challenge, but a direct order, though there was lightness in the order, she felt her lips closing of their own accord as his lips clasped the throbbing pulse at her neck. She had expected to be tortured with pleasure, to have to writhe in his hands and beg for mercy before he would let the threshold break and light to seep into her pores as she found her climax. This was not the case, no.

Erik moved quickly and unselfishly, hand upon the stomach of her restricting corset as his other hand moved under her shift, bringing her to ecstasy rapidly. Her hands stretched out to grasp his shoulders, the shock in her eyes forcing him to chuckle as her knees shook in their weakness at the intensity of her orgasm. He was relentless, hand continuing its task, fingers turning up in time with her harsh breathing. Fire pierced her veins and a small sense of panic shot through her as she gasped breaths into the tightness of the corset, his exploring fingers shaking her world until she could do nothing but squeeze her thighs against his invasive hand and hold herself up against his sturdy figure, mouth slack and eyes tightly shut as she felt the familiar bubbles bursting across her skin. This continued, multiple times seeking no pleasure for himself, Erik brought her to see stars across her eyes again and again. She was overwhelmed, the continuous pleasure had shook her until tears began to spill forth and her shaking hands found his cheeks and she stared him down in frantic confusion,

"Why're you doing this? You don't have to do this-" Erik claimed her lips again, slower this time, before resting their foreheads together as she relaxed her shaking form against the wall, still on guard at the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns against the soft skin of her delicate thighs.

"I want you to feel the pleasure you bring me by merely existing."

"Erik-" Her protest caught in her throat as he knelt down and lifted the shift above his head, hot breath tickling her thighs before he caught her most heated spot in a long kiss, as if he was engaged with her mouth. Sliding a few inches down the wall, Christine thought her legs would definitely give out from under her if he wasn't finished with her soon. Her breasts felt heavy as he continued on, truly loving her in every sense of the word as the oddity of his face created sensations she thought herself lucky to be the only woman to experience, as his name soared from her lips. She felt wholly consumed by him as his hands clutched her rolling hips as he slowed his pace and she relaxed in her drunken state of drowsiness.

"I feel much better, don't you?" Erik paused to study her flushed face with a satisfied grin, her breathing had quieted and her chest had stopped heaving so heavily, "I love you." He whispered with a slight chuckled as she weakly clutched her arms around his form. It was torture of the most wonderful kind, to have his warm embrace around her shaking frame as he lead her back to the chaise lounge where she was settled in his lap, once more.

"I love you." The words were slightly slurred as the room darkened and her head grew heavy and thick, lolling back against his shoulder.

"Sleep now, Christine, it would do best for you to get your rest." She obeyed with a slight smile, his laughter ringing in her ears.


End file.
